Held Up In Contention
by stndabvthcrwd1
Summary: After the shootout at the station in Contention, Wade uses the town as a hide-out. But in the house he breaks into, he finds the uncooperative Jenna Daniels. With limited time, it doesn't take long for them to discover they both have secrets. WadeOC.
1. Back in Town

**This is a fairly short story - compared to the LOTR fic I've got going at the moment anyway - but the idea came to me and wouldn't go away. Ben Wade is my favourite character I've yet seen Russell Crowe play, so it makes sense I'd write a fic about him. I hope those of you that read this feel I stayed true to the feel of the great film, and especially the character of Ben Wade. Best way to let me know would be to review ;) I thank you in advance for reading.**

**Cheers**

* * *

The train was gaining speed, but it moved slowly. Slow enough for a quick horse to catch up to one of the cars. Slow enough for a skilled man to slip out of the window of said car, and leap carefully onto the horse's back. And then fast enough so that, as the horse and rider swerved away from the noisy engine, no one would notice the missing passenger until it was too late and there wasn't even dust left to settle from his trail of abandonment. The train receded in the direction opposite of the galloping horse, until the smoky chug of the engine was overpowered by the muffled thuds of the horse's hooves. And then it was only the hooves; the hooves and the horse's breathing. As those became the only sounds in the still air, the rider dared to slow his mount. A canter, then a trot - but no slower. The rider remained erect and cautious, his sharp eyes roving the buildings around him carefully.

The sun was high and hot, but people were scarce to be seen. They'd all either been part of the hellstorm of bullets just minutes ago and lay dead, maimed, or terrified, or had heard the shoot-out and were too afraid to test the open air. It was impossible to tell if anyone noticed him riding away from the train, but his arrogance refused to let him leave the town just yet, because after all - who would be foolish enough to try and kill him on their own? Less than fifteen minutes ago every damned soul in the tattered town had been aiming for his head. But with the Hand of God back in it's holy holster - stealing it back from the train guard had been easier than properly possible - no one would dare confront Ben Wade. Or so he told himself.

So he slipped quietly into town from a side street, behind a couple battered houses. Hopefully any eyes that had been watching the showdown at the train station kept their eyes there, and didn't see his special reappearance. Wade pulled in his steed's reins while still in the shadows of a tall, faded red building. The big black beast stopped, stamped a hoof, and waited obediently. He slid silently from the saddle, his eyes continually scouring the buildings and shadows around him, waiting for a shout, a gunshot, anything. Nothing came. Nothing at all. His brow lowered, the only sign of his puzzlement, and he bite the inside of his cheek in thought. Just what, exactly, had been the next step of his plan? There hadn't been one, he realized, and it unnerved him. He always planned a step ahead - indeed three steps ahead, at the least. It's what kept him alive while everyone else was wasted. Which, he was bitterly reminded, that 'everyone' included even Dan Evans now. Wade's eyes dropped to the ground for a moment and an odd weight crept into his limbs. But no sooner had it come than he shook it away. The thought of Evans reminded him - where was the kid, William? There was no way he was yet out of the town. Sharp blue-green eyes roved his surroundings again.

There, coming up the road from the direction of the station. Medium height, coal-colored hair, and gentle, innocent features. It was William Evans. Not yet sixteen and the kid was now covered in dirt, gunpowder, grief, and the blood of his father. Wade pushed his horse further into the shadows as he carefully watched the kid's actions. He stumbled wearily up the wooden steps of the grocer's, and continued on until some kind woman couldn't restrain herself and burst out of the store to help him. She took his hands, and Wade studied her face as she spoke quickly to the boy, surely asking if he was alright, where he'd come from, what he was doing. Then she noticed the blood, and the listless look in William's pale blue eyes. He heard her gasp from across the street in his shadows, and then call for help from within the store. Movement caught his attention. Other people had heard the commotion and seen the boy, and now dared to peer out of their houses, now that the chance their heads would get blown off by their own folk appeared to be gone. A handful of people even stepped into the street, and that quickly, the horrified silence that had trapped Contention disappeared. That was his cue.

Wade turned away from the bright street and figure of William Evans, fatherless and wronged, and led his horse behind the house. It wasn't safe, keeping his distinguishable mount, but he couldn't bear to let the beast loose. Not for sentimental reasons - Ben Wade didn't have those - but because the beast was smart, and trained, and strong. There had to be somewhere to hide it. He looked around for a moment, checking his limited surroundings. The cattle corral by the train station had a second section with a handful of horses in it. Three chestnuts, two bays, and a black. Such a small number of the animals would make the addition of his noticeable, but hopefully the town would be too busy tallying it's dead and wounded to worry about horses. And if it came to it, he was fairly confident it'd be no easy task to tell which black was a stranger. For anyone but him, anyway. That settled it, in his mind. Muttering a few words to the beast, Ben slipped off the expensive saddle, quickly stashing it in an empty crate he was lucky enough to be standing beside. Studying the crate for half a moment, he then took a short rope from one of his saddle bags and tied it around one of the boards of the box, to show which one held his saddle. With a nod of approval, he then took off his hat and vest - laying them on the crate as well - and pulled from a different bag a hanker chief and leather tie, pulling his hair back with the tie and knotting the cloth loosely around his throat. It was rough, but it was enough to hide him from anyone that glimpsed him at a distance. He took off his gun belt as well, but stuck the precious weapon down the front of his trousers none the less. He'd look unarmed, at least. Leaving most of his sparse belongings in the wooden crate, Wade took his horse by it's headstall and led it towards the corral.

It took everything he had not to look over his shoulder and see if anyone noticed him, check if there was a pistol aimed at his back right now. But he got the horse to the wooden pen, found the gate, slipped it open enough to urge his steed through, and then unlatched and slipped off the bridle. The big beast snorted and shook its head, pleased to be free from it's leather trappings for the first time in a very long while. Not needing any further command from the outlaw, it then plodded over to the water trough where the other horses gathered. Wade smiled faintly, and then turned and walked steadily back to 'his' crate.

He was torn for a moment about whether to remain dressed in the simple disguise that he currently was, or to say to hell with it and put his belt, vest, and hat back on properly. Why in the hell had he not thought this far into things? Where was his head at? He sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes, pushing away the weariness and images of Dan Evans, bloody and laying in the dirt. Was he still there, or had someone moved him? Not the sheriff or his deputies, that was for sure. They were in the same position as Dan. This town would take a while to pull itself back together, that was certain. Which meant he _should_ just get the damned saddle back on his horse and set off at a gallop away from the buildings and bloodied people. But his left side stung, almost burned in an irritating way. But there wasn't the time to worry about scratches from the shootout. He was tired. And not himself, at the moment. He would stay, just for a day or two, to get his bearings. He wanted to make sure William got back to his mother alright, after what had happened with his father. Not that Ben Wade himself cared, but because the Evans family had risked and lost enough because of him. So as soon as William left, so would he.

Wade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking the curls of hair that had fallen loose out of his face. The plan didn't make a damned scrap of sense, and he knew it. But he also knew he wasn't himself - which should have been an even clearer sign to get the hell out of the town, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Instead, he left his things in the crate - ignoring the immense feeling of anxiety that immediately swept him - and slipped between the shadows of two houses, onto the wooden boards of the sidewalk. His footsteps paused, as he listened - instead of looked - for any sign that he'd been spotted and identified. One, two, three, four heartbeats later, and nothing. Good. He walked slowly down the walk, glancing around casually. People spoke in the streets, crying, sobbing, comforting, questioning. Boxes, barrels, and everything else lay scattered here and there, the wooden beams holding the roof was splintered and busted, scraps of belongings and bullets littered the walk and street. Almost unconsciously, he stepped over a body bleeding in his path. It was a shame things had turned out like this. Clever of Charlie to get the whole town on his side - it was something Wade himself might have done - but it was still a shame for so many bodies to be lying around. But nothing more than a shame.

He stepped around another body, and continued leisurely on his way. He risked another glance down the street. William Evans had disappeared, and a tall man appeared to be organizing people, getting some men to run down to the station - likely to check the bodies there and see if Wade himself was one of them - while women were to clean up the mutilated town. Wade stepped off the end of the walk into the sun, squinting in the sudden light for a moment. He looked around to gain his bearings amongst the buildings, and glimpsed a figure that appeared to be looking in his direction. He hastily blinked the glare from the sun away, and saw clearly that a boy, no more than thirteen, was looking right at him. It was likely nothing, but Wade didn't take chances, and he quickly swivelled on his heel, looking for a quick escape. A small, plain brown house sat on his immediate left, and he rushed at the door. He twisted the handle, and was relieved to find it open. With a quiet ease he was dangerous for, he slipped into the house, disappearing from the confused kid's sight quick enough to have been a hallucination. He only hoped the kid would think so too.

There was no sound as he froze just behind the door. The kid hadn't shouted, or followed him, or done anything else foolish. A soft sigh escaped his lips, before he realized he had just broken into a stranger's house - 'broken' being a general term, as he _had_ simply walked through the front door. Rather than leave and hope again no one would notice him, he peered around the empty living room he stood in, and slowly pulled his pistol from his trousers. The room was small, with a pale yellow love-seat covered with a knitted tan afghan, a weathered wooden chair, a small dark, chipped wooden coffee table between the two seats, a dainty piano against the far wall, small fireplace, and two lanterns on stands at opposite sides of the room. Obviously, whoever lived here had a small family and low wages. If he happened to come across them it should be easy to silence them with some coin - that is, if any coin was left in his saddle bags at this point. But, at the moment, the house appeared quiet and still. Perhaps the owner - or owners - had gone out to the streets to offer help already. So why didn't he just grab whatever valuable or interesting objects he could see, and get the hell out? Because he needed somewhere to hide where he wouldn't be expected. And Ben Wade didn't steal from common folk.

Keeping the gun ready in his hand, Wade stepped quietly through the living room. His boots and spurs were impossible to keep silent, but he quieted them as best he could. The doorway opposite him connected with a petite kitchen - empty as well - and then he was led down a short hallway, a closet on his left - he checked, and it was empty save for linens, knitting needles, yarn, and some tools - and then the hall ended in a small bedroom. Three rooms in total in the entire house. Still cautious, he stepped into the room, hand loose around the gun but nerves tight, and his sharp eyes scanned his surroundings. A fair-sized bed with a dark afghan for a coverlet, tattered wooden dresser, a bed-side table with some books and a lantern, a mirror, and a closet. Quaint, but cozy. There was a window to his left, and Wade instinctively moved towards it, ducking down a little to see out better. A breeze had picked up, throwing dust around the splintered town, and he watched calmly as people still ran around trying to clean up. Women clutched their hair and skirts and children, men grasped their guns tight, as if they expected the outlaw to leap out at them from the nearest doorway. Although in truth, their anxiety was better founded than they knew.

Ben watched with little interest for a moment more, until the softest creak of a floorboard drew his attention over his shoulder. The outlaw whirled, raising the pistol in his right hand, but he was at the disadvantage of being caught by surprise. He recieved no more than a glimpse of brown hair and blue fabric before the cruel butt of a rifle slammed into his head, and white-hot sparks burst behind his eyes.


	2. The Outlaw

**I'm glad to see some people are actually reading this story, lol :) Thank you so much, those of you that leave reviews. It's always wonderful to get any sort of feedback. I apologize this chapter took so long to get up - the rest hopefully won't, as I have it all written already - but I quite like it, just because it introduces Ben better. Yet I'm also really nervous about how I interpreted the character; I hope you readers feel I remained true enough to the film version. Let me know :)**

**Cheers**

* * *

The man swayed on his feet, shaking the pain from his head and blinking heavily. "Ow," he muttered, shaking the last of the dizziness away, and raising his eyes to his attacker. Dear God, it was a woman. Not real tall, young but not a girl, slender but not thin, with gold-brown hair pulled back from her deep blue eyes. Eyes that glared at him with a fury he was a little offended to see. Not that it kept him from reaching for his g- Wade risked a glance down at his waist, where his empty hand swept equally empty air. He spotted the Hand of God resting on the floor a yard away. He must have dropped it when the rifle blow hit him. Damn. His tactical mind constantly churning, he straightened up with a half-smile, relaxing his shoulders and raising his hands palm outwards.

"Easy there, sweet'eart. You're makin' me nervous."

"How'd you get in here?" The woman didn't move the muzzle of the rifle an inch.

"You left your door open, ma'am."

"What were you doing trying to get into my house?"

"I was, ah, lookin' for some help, for the people outside. They've got a lot of wounded out there." Her hard eyes bored into him. "Really now, you're tryin' my nerves, darlin'. A pretty little thing like you holdin' a gun like that is scarier than any man I've yet seen." He smiled charmingly again. Flattery, charm - he was a master.

"You're Ben Wade."

Uh-oh. "Beg your pardon?"

"You're Ben Wade, the outlaw. Don't think I don't recognize the most famous gun in Arizona on the floor there."

This wasn't going like it was supposed to. He paused, not sure how to respond, and the smile and flirtation left him. His eyes darkened a touch, and he observed his opponent carefully, judging and measuring everything from her grip on the gun to her stance to the straight line of her back. "And what do you plan on doing about finding Ben Wade in your house?"

She hesitated, but only a moment. "I'm going to march you _out_ of my house, and let the sheriff take care of you."

"Sheriff's dead, sweetheart. Deputies too. Half the town, probably."

His words visibly unnerved her, and fear slipped into her eyes as she adjusted her now-nervous grip on the gun.

"Then I'll let some of the other men figure out what to do with you. You're supposed to be on that train, to Yuma."

"You're right," he answered slowly, "I am."

A loud knock broke their quiet talk then, coming from the front of the house. It surprised the woman enough to make her jump, and she tossed a quick glance behind her. That was all he needed.

Wade leapt forward faster than she could have been prepared for, and ducked to the side - in case she fired wildly - before latching his hands onto the metal of the rifle, tearing it easily from her grasp. As soon as he felt the gun pulled from her hold, he held it with one of his hands, grabbing her hair with his free one. A yell started in her throat, but Wade pulled her against him, pinning her to his chest with his arm and adjusting his hand to quickly cover her mouth. No more than a yelp escaped. His breath hadn't even quickened.

"But I'm not feelin' like Yuma today."

The knocking came again, louder and longer this time. Ben still held the woman firmly, but glanced towards the front of the house, then down at her. Wide, terrified blue eyes stared up at him, and a couple strands of dark gold hair fell in her face. "Listen carefully," he murmured, his lips inches from her ear and lowering his husky voice to a chilling level, "I am going to let you go. You are going to stay quiet as I grab my gun. If you cause trouble, I will shoot you. I'm going to walk you to the front door, with my pistol in your spine. You're going to answer the door, and I am going to stand behind it, with my pistol in your spine. If you cause trouble, I _will_ shoot you - and then whoever is at the door, too. You will answer their questions and act normal, but you will not leave the house or invite them in. If you cause trouble, I will shoot you. Get rid of them quickly. Or I will shoot you." He paused, looking down at her again. "Do you understand?"

Her head nodded nervously beneath his hand. He stared at her for a moment more, hard, his eyes threatening. A call came from the door then, asking if anyone was home, and was followed by another knock. Wade glanced up, then slowly let the woman go. She seemed frozen for a moment, trembling and staring at him as he bent over to pick up the Hand of God. He cocked the pistol, holding the rifle slack in his left hand, and gestured for her to go on. She tenatively obeyed, abandoning the small room for the front door. She jumped as the narrow muzzle of the Hand of God nudged her back. With a shaking hand, she opened the door.

"Miss Daniels?" A man stood in the doorway, in his mid-thirties with light brown hair, nervously twisting his hat in his hands.

"Rory Johnston, is it?" She asked politely, recognizing him vaguely.

"That's right, ma'am. I have, uh, some bad news for you, Miss Daniels."

A trickle of dread crept into her limbs. "What kind of news, Mr. Johnston?"

"Well you see it's... May I come in, ma'am?"

The barrell of the pistol shifted against her back. "Now's not quite the time, Mr. Johnston. I'm in the middle of cleaning my floors. Besides, best get bad news out quick." She waited patiently, already assuming his next words.

The man twisted his hat tighter. "It's your uncle, miss. He..he was killed in the shootout just a short while ago. They've got him with the rest of the deceased down by the sheriff's office." He paused, glancing up at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Miss Daniels."

She merely nodded once, slowly, unsure how to reply. Her uncle was dead. It was just her now. Her, trapped in her own home by an outlaw at gunpoint.

"Would you like to come down and see 'im, Miss Daniels? I was sent to recieve you."

The gun pressed harder into her spine. "Ah, not at the moment, Mr. Johnston, if you please." He gave her a puzzled look, clearly not understanding her refusal. "I'm...I'm a little overwhelmed right now, I think. I don't know if I could handle seeing him...like that."

Johnston nodded. "I understand."

"Good," a deep whisper came to her from behind the door, "now wrap things up." The gun in her back roughly persuaded her.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Johnston, I'd dearly like some time to myself right now. To sort things out."

"Absolutely, ma'am." The man looked relieved as he stepped back off her porch. Clearly, he hadn't wanted to escort a mourning woman any more than she wanted the pistol shoved in her back.

"I'll come to the caretaker when I've gathered my thoughts, shall I?" She offered a weak, forced smile and slowly started to close the door.

Johnston nodded again. "That'd do well, ma'am. We're a bit busy in town at the moment as it is."

"Then I shan't keep you here. Good day, Mr. Johnston."

"G'day, Miss Daniels."

The door shut, and Wade immeditely pressed his back against it, keeping his pistol casually levelled at her as the faintest of smiles touched his lips. "How come you won't talk to me that sweetly?" The woman didn't answer, just glared at him. He gestured with the gun for her to move into the kitchen. There weren't any windows in there. "Sit, please." He offered, and she begrudgingly obeyed. Wade sat across from her, and after gazing at her for a moment, leaned back in his chair and slid the Hand of God back into it's holster. He had abandoned the rifle in a corner against the wall - after taking the shot out of it.

"Miss Daniels, is it?" He finally asked, breaking the silence. She didn't answer. "Miss...not Misses. So you're not married?" No answer. "You have a first name, Miss Daniels?" No answer. He waited. No answer. "If you don't give me a name, I'm either going to make one up, or force it out of you. I've had a bit of a rough day so far, and I'm leaning towards the latter method." He settled his cold gaze on her, and she knew he was not lying.

She swallowed, working to find the voice that suddenly failed her. "J-Jenna."

"Jenna," he repeated, and it almost seemed like he worked to make the word fall soft and sultry from his lips. "So, Miss Jenna Daniels, your uncle is dead. I take it he's the person that lives with you here." Still, no answer. Wade sighed, dropping his head for a moment, before looking up, his jaw set, and reaching forward to grab the edge of Jenna's chair. He sharply pulled the chair towards him, to the point that she could touch his shirt if she moved her right arm. He drew the Hand of God with his left hand, holding it loosely but always dangerously, and draped that same arm around the top of the chair, so she was trapped between the man's body and his gun. With his free right hand, he pulled the leather tie from his hair and ran his hand through the chesnut waves, before yanking the suffocating bandana from his throat. He sighed heavily again, relaxing his muscles and intimidating the smaller woman with his close, heavy presence.

"Now Miss Jenna, I normally try to be an agreeable person, but like I told you - I've had a bit of a rough day so far. I would really appreciate it if you'd cooperate with me, and just answer a few questions." He moved his left hand so that the barrel of the Hand of God pressed against her cheek. "You'll do that for me, won't you?" He tilted his head, voice gentle, but eyes always authorative. The sudden closeness Jenna found herself to with Ben Wade took her off-guard, and frightened her like she hadn't been before. She nodded. "Very good. Now - is your uncle the only other person that lives with you here?" She nodded. "No parents, or siblings?" She shook her head carefully. Wade studied her for a moment. "You don't even have a tear to shed for your poor beloved uncle? Now why might that be?" She didn't answer. "Miss Jenna..." Wade warned.

"I..I don't know," she whispered, her wide blue eyes flicking to the gun that still touched her cheek.

"You don't know?" He repeated dryly, still studying her. "Now there's a story to be told, I can tell." Jenna didn't reply, and he sighed softly, loosing his intimidating hold from her and moving back a couple inches. "But that is beside the point at the moment. Right now, I could do with a drink. Please tell me you have alcohol in this house." Jenna nodded. "Would you be so kind as to get me a glass?"

She nodded stiffly again, and slowly rose from the chair. She pulled a short, squat glass from the upper cupboard, and then a bottle of amber liquid from the lower cupboard. She slid them both over to the polite criminal, and sat back down.

"Thank you, Miss Jenna." He flashed a smile, and then poured himself a drink. "No liquor for yourself?" Not hearing an answer, he looked up with raised eyebrows.

"No."

"I didn't think so. You're missing out, Miss Jenna." He sniffed the alcohol in his glass, and took a sip, intelligent eyes constantly fixed on her. "A good drink can make your life easier. Now, it can easily ruin a life too, but my life, at least, is beyond the reach of even alcohol." He smirked again, tossing back the entire glass quickly.

"What do you want, Mr. Wade?" Jenna finally asked, her voice only a desperate whisper.

Ben studied the young woman, with her wide blue eyes that revealed her fear, and the loose strands of dark gold hair that had fallen to frame her cheeks. "I just need a place to stay for a couple of days, until your town can rest assured that I'm gone. It'll take little longer than that for word to reach here that I never arrived at Yuma, but I'll be gone before then. Just give me tomorrow and the morning after to rest up, and then I'll let you be, and you can tell all your gal pals about how the notorious Ben Wade held you captive in your own home." He smirked, blue-green eyes taunting and suggestive.

Jenna clenched her jaw at the implications, but she was not a fool and fully aware that he was just as dangerous as he'd been made out to be. And the gun was still in his hand. "How am I supposed to excuse your stay here? You're not likely to let me leave the house, are you? They'll want me down there to see my uncle."

"We'll figure that out when it comes to it. Perhaps by the time someone comes asking for you again, you'll be a little more obedient to my requests."

She let out a heavy breath in reply, dark blue eyes never leaving him.

"Don't you have anything to say?" He asked lightly, tilting his head with a light in his eye. "You're a woman of very few words, Miss Jenna."

"And you're a man of too many, Mr. Wade."

A surprisingly gentle laugh broke from the man's smiling lips, as he tossed brown bangs from his eyes. "Not normally, Miss Jenna, just around you. Pretty women make my thoughts go wild and my tongue run fast. But it's Ben, Miss Jenna, just Ben."

"Your flattery is a hopeless attempt, Mr. Wade."

He smirked, knowing better than she just how his flattery worked. "As you will, Miss Jenna."


	3. Becoming Acquainted

Jenna turned away then, unable to hold Wade's teasing blue-green gaze any longer. She got to her feet and went to the sink, her hands playing idly with the dirty dishes that lay there. She'd need to bring in some water from the well and wash them. If the outlaw would even let her fetch the water. Or maybe he'd do it himself. And while he was out there, she could slip out the door and into the street and get help in less than thirty seconds..he'd be caught in a flash, unsuspecting and unprepared, and then it would truly be just her alone...

"You need some water for those dishes, Miss Jenna?" The gravelly tone of Ben Wade slipped through her thoughts, seeming to have read her mind. Some of it, anyway.

She turned around, trying to keep her face as stoic as it had been, and eyed him for a moment. "Yes, actually. There's a well just behind the house."

"Well then," he slid the Hand of God back into it's holster, "let's go get it."

Jenna hid the disappointment from her face. Of couse he wouldn't leave her alone. He was Ben Wade, he was beyond such simple tricks. He stood up, politely pushing the chair back in towards the table, and she took a sharp breath in surprise. "Mr. Wade, you're bleeding!"

Ben glanced over at her, then down to where she stared at his left side. Sure enough, just seeping onto his shirt from the edge of his pants was a patch of blood shaped like a glove. "God damn," he muttered, touching a hand to the wet spot. Where had that come from, and how in the hell hadn't he noticed it?

Jenna hesitated for only a moment, then bit her lip and grabbed a cloth that rested on the small counter, and then the small, nearly empty basin of water that sat on the dry-sink. "Sit back down and let me see it." She commanded, and knelt beside the outlaw as he obeyed. She set the cloth and water beside the man on the table, and carefully pulled at the edges of his shirt. It pulled free of his trousers, and she nervously pushed the blood-stained side out of her way.

"Well this isn't quite how I'd imagined your first attempt to undress me."

She glanced up, unamused, and recieved only a charming smile. Focusing back on the wounded skin, she studied it for a moment to find the cause for bleeding. It wasn't as obvious as a bullet wound might have been - and even Ben Wade wouldn't have been able to ignore the pain from a gunshot - and the bleeding appeared to have stopped, although only recently. Looking away only to moisten the corner of the cloth in the water, she carefully cleaned away the dark blood from the man's skin - resolutely ignoring the extra several inches of bare torso she revealed. It wasn't until she touched the cloth at the center of the blood spot that Wade's nerves twitched in discomfort. Furrowing her brow, Jenna peered closer at the wounded skin. It looked faintly tattered, and she could see pieces of something attached and worked into the flesh.

With a sigh of mixed weariness and frustration, Jenna stood and moved to the small counter to rummage through a drawer for a moment. She came back to Wade's side with a small pair of metal tweezers, and knelt beside him again, pulling his empty drinking glass closer to her on the table. Gently clearing away more of the excess blood with the cloth, she peered closer at the wound. "You've got something worked into the skin but..I'm not sure what yet. Move your arm, please, so I can have a little more light." Wade obediently obeyed, shifting his left arm further back on the table and glancing down at her as she assessed him.

Carefully, she prodded one of the oddly-shaped scratches with the tweezers, until she grasped something, and then pulled. "It's glass," she muttered, and dropped it into the empty drinking glass. "During your shootout some glass must have shattered and stuck in you, or something to that effect."

Wade tried to think over the entire shootout, striving to recall any close encounters with glass. But it was all a blur, ending only with Dan Evans dead in the dirt. He shook his head. "I can't be sure."

"Well I can, because I'm looking at it." Jenna replied dryly, pulling another sliver from his side. "This will start to hurt soon."

"I'll manage." Wade pulled the liquor bottle closer to him.

Jenna ignored the outlaw then, focusing solely on pulling out as many pieces of glass as she could find. They seemed to be fair sized, mostly the size of large seeds. If there were any smaller shards though, they'd be a trial to find. She just did her best, digging the metal tweezers into the man's tattered skin and dismissing the spasms of his muscles with any pain. The only sounds were the quiet breathing of the two people, the hitches in Wade's as a piece of glass irritated his flesh, and the soft plink of the shards in the whisky glass.

"Considering you're the only guest in my house at the moment, I gather whoever travelled with you on the road to the station is dead." She wasn't sure why the words came from her, basically encouraging conversation. But they did.

Wade paused. "Butterfield's alive. And the kid."

"You had a _kid_ with you?"

"He snuck out after us, after his dad."

Jenna thought for a moment, detracting another chunk of glass. "So his dad's dead, then?"

An unfamiliar and unwanted sense of grief weighed upon Wade's mind. "Yes," he answered, voice soft.

The woman ground her jaw for a moment, anger beginning to burn anew. Here she was, tending to a murderer who had caused the death of a boy's father less than an hour ago. "And your men? Where are they?"

Ben Wade saw the scene play out before his eyes in double time: Charlie Prince taking aim at Evans, Evans going down in a rush of blood, the boy kneeling by his dying father, and then his own Hand of God flashing out and taking down each of his men. He could practically feel the weight of Charlie's body in his hand as he fired the last bullet into his heart. He swallowed. "Dead."

Jenna glanced up. "Dead? How? You can't tell me that seven of your men were taken down by whatever meagre guard the state gave you?"

He levelled his gaze at her, and she saw his pale eyes had darkened, and were devoid of any expression but a chilling glimmer of bitterness. "I killed them." His words were short, and as harsh and rough as two slabs of stone grinding together. They, and the cold stare in his eyes, sent a chill down Jenna's spine. She ducked her head, focusing again on the injury, and said no more while she finished.

The time passed quickly, as Ben Wade studied the small woman working diligently to remove every shred of glass she could find in his flesh. The wounds had been burning and stinging for a while now, yet only to the point that he'd taken a couple sips from the whiskey bottle. He glanced at the glass where the slivers were being deposited, and averaged little less than twenty pieces had been removed. How had he not more obviously noticed the injury? He truly wasn't quite himself.

"I think that's all," Jenna finally announced, observing his skin again and gently cleaning away the fresh blood she'd provoked. "There's a good chance some smaller pieces are in there that I can't see, but unless you want to go see a doctor, there's nothing I can do about that." She stood, and wiped her hands on the cloth. "I'll get you a bandage from the closet to staunch that bleeding." She turned and stepped into the hall, digging through the closet.

Wade peered down at his exposed side, seeing now only red, swollen skin and the faintest spots of blood that had just begun to flow. Jenna appeared beside him again, holding a roll of white bandage and a dark bottle. She pulled a long strip of the bandage, tearing it easily with her teeth, and then folded it up into a small, thick pad before setting it on the corner of the table. She grabbed the bloodied cloth again, and removed the top from the bottle, then poured the clear liquid onto the cloth. A sharp, familiar smell stung Wade's nose. He clenched his jaw just in time as Jenna abruptly, and without warning, pressed the soaked cloth against his wound. The raw alcohol burned like a fire in his flesh, and Wade couldn't stop the grunt that the pain provoked. It lasted only a moment though, as she quickly removed the cloth and placed the pad of bandage against the wound instead.

"Hold this," she instructed and he did as he was told, as she began to wrap the roll of bandage around his waist, nudging his shirt further aside and pinning the make-shift gauze pad against the bleeding. After a couple times around he removed his hand, carefully keeping out of her way but still watching her closely. Her features were gentle, no matter how stern she tried to appear while speaking to him, and she was lovely in a mild, delicate way he could tell she pretended not to have. Her fingers worked swiftly to tear the end of the wrap, and tie the two ends together, holding the bandage tight against his body. She was tightening the knot with finality, when, unable to suppress the urge, he reached forward and brushed his fingers across her neck, and cupped his palm tenderly around her throat. At his touch, the woman flinched and jerked backwards, throwing herself off balance and stumbling to fall on her bottom on the wood floor.

Bewildered and alarmed, Wade moved forward to help Jenna up, ignoring the continuous sting in his side. "Jenna?" He asked, reaching out a hand.

She refused to look at him, touching her hand to her throat and scrambling back up ungracefully. "Why would you..? D-don't touch me." She muttered, her only reply, and continued to avoid meeting his eyes as she grabbed the materials she'd been using off the table, depositing them by the sink. "You, uhm, you can sit in the living room and read or something and I'll make dinner early. I..I imagine you're hungry." She cleared her throat, wiping her hands on a towel again, and regaining her bearings. "You do read, Mr. Wade?"

He studied her for a moment, curious and intrigued by her odd behavior, but letting it be. He had another day and a half with her, after all. "What chances I have, I do, yes."

"Well now's a chance. There are some books on the table. I'll let you know when supper's ready." Without waiting for a reply, she turned her back to him, pulling a couple dishes from the lower cupboard.

Little more than half an hour later, Wade was called back to the kitchen. He tore a page from the book he was holding, then tossed it back onto the coffee table and joined Jenna at the small kitchen table. It was laden with shredded beef, gravy, corn, and biscuits and gave off a homey, heavenly aroma. He inhaled deeply, offering a small smile at the woman that set mugs of drink before the two plates.

"It looks like you over-did yourself, Miss Jenna. It's just Ben Wade you're housin'."

She glanced up at him for a moment, then seated herself firmly. "Trust me, Mr. Wade, I haven't forgotten."

Her tone wasn't as flattering as he would have liked, and Wade thoughtfully lowered himself into the chair opposite her. She immediately dished herself a moderate helping of each item, but he merely watched her hands move about the table. They paused, after a moment.

"Mr. Wade? Is there a problem?"

He didn't look into her eyes, playing out his devices skillfully. "No, ma'am." As if her question had been a command, he began to help himself to the meal. Only her hands stayed in sight of his lowered eyes, and they didn't move from their places resting beside her plate. He could feel her watching him, inwardly debating.

"May I ask about your behavior, Mr. Wade?"

"My behavior, ma'am?"

She paused. "You seem a little...put-out."

He let her wait in silence, not looking at her just yet. "I apologize for offending you earlier, Miss Jenna." He replied softly, surprising himself. That wasn't what he'd planned on saying. But nonetheless, he followed his comment with a sly glance at her face from underneath his lashes. He knew the effect it would have.

She was clearly surprised, confused even, but wary. Her eyes met his though and her face softened, revealling the mild sweetness she strove to suppress around him. She glanced down, flushing slightly. "I'm sorry as well. I..I overreacted. You meant no harm."

"That's right," Wade murmured, daring to raise his head a little more, his eyes boring into her more directly, "I certainly meant no harm."

Her dark eyes held his for only a couple breaths, and she pulled away again, focusing on her meal instead.

Wade twisted his mouth to hide a smirk, and upon reaching to pick up his fork, noticed the page still in his hand. He glanced at it for a moment, before setting it on the table and nudging it silently towards Jenna. Without looking at her, he began to eat. He heard her set down her own cutlery, and saw in his peripherals her pick up the paper. She was quiet for a long moment.

"This is very good." A pause. "Do you draw often?"

He swallowed, risking a mild glance up. "More than I read."

The faintest of smiles nudged the corner of her mouth, and then vanished. Her eyes focused on the page again, studying his quick sketch of the kitchen, and her standing before the stove. It was more complex and detailed than his usual pieces, but then again, he had more time than usual right now. Her brow pulled forward a touch as she turned the page over.

"Is this from one of the books?"

He sat up straighter, swallowing again. "I apologize, there was no other paper available."

Her eyes rested on him again, eyes as dark and deep as a lake, and they were stern. "You might have asked, Mr. Wade."

Wade leaned back in the chair with more leisure, beginning to associate the title 'Mr. Wade' with displeasure on her part. He said nothing for a long moment, staring at her instead. Her dark eyes grew colder and sterner with each passing second, and yet his remained mild, almost bored. It irritated her, he knew, but it helped put him in control. Show no aggravation, no irriation, no emotion, and your opponent becomes unnerved. It had worked a hundred times before and did not fail him now. Eventually her glare wavered, and soon broke, falling to look anywhere but at his expressionless eyes.

He stood then, the chair scraping against the wood floor, and he sauntered carelessly back into the small living room. Had he been in a decent mood, he would've helped the woman with the dishes and cleaning up the meal - he may be an outlaw, but he had manners. But she had begun to irritate him, fighting off every advancement he made - ones both neutral, friendly, and flirtatious alike. She could handle the clean-up alone, while he sat in her uncle's chair, drawing on pages of her books.

Jenna appeared in the living room a short while later, and eyed him until he glanced up lazily, the small pencil in his hand frozen on the page. She clenched her jaw, but didn't appear as sure of herself as before. Instead she shifted, wringing her hands in her dress and glancing around.

"Yes, Miss Jenna?" Wade drawled after a moment.

Her dark eyes glanced down at the book he was vandalizing - _Crime and Punishment_ - and pressing her lips together, she moved around him to sit on the couch. She didn't answer him, apparently applying herself to his game of cold behavior, and instead picked up the embroidery basket that sat beside her seat. She chose a new bolt of cloth, selected a handful of colors, threaded her needle, and began to work into continual silence. Wade watched her from over the edge of his sketch, quietly observing the stern lines of bitterness that fell from the woman's face as she focused on her newest task. Her small hands moved skillfully and quickly, and her head tilted slightly to the left as she gave the cloth her full attention. It was fascinating for Wade, to see someone so completely immersed in such a normal, harmless task. Shifting in his seat, he lowered his eyes back to the page.


	4. Sleep and Smoke

**The next installment. Hope those of you reading this enjoy where this goes...it's weird how nervous I am about this story... Anyway, I'll shut up.**

**Cheers**

* * *

Night had fallen. Jenna looked over at the wooden chair across from her to ask her uncle for the time, and was slapped again with reality. It was Ben Wade sitting across from her, asleep, not her uncle. Whether that was better or worse was difficult to yet tell. Wade, at least, was a handsomer sight. Not spectacular, perhaps, but better than a fifty year old man with a limp and that always smelled like smokeand liquor. The outlaw was a little shorter than her uncle had been, but big in presence. He dressed nicely, despite the dust and wear that his clothes had seen, and he spoke nicely too, with a soft, gravelled voice. He had a definitive rough look about him, but his smile - when it showed - was unexpectedly warm, like when the sun emerges from behind a cloud of thunder. He was a charmer, that much was clear, and he knew it and used it. It took everything she had to dismiss his taunts and advances, and remind herself he was a murderer and holding her captive in her own home.

But no, she realized, silently and slowly setting aside her embroidery. He was, to all outward appearances, unconscious at the moment. The front door was little more than fifteen feet away. It would be so easy, so simple, to stand up and slip out the door, get help, and have the man arrested. It would take no time at all. But she hesitated, watching him closely. It'd be too easy for him, as well, to be faking his sleep. His eyes did not move beneath his lids, his body was limp, his head fallen to the side, and his chest moved steadily with his breaths. He was the convincing image of sleep. Better to take the chance, she decided, and silently rose to her feet.

Jenna was blessed with only the smallest creak of the flooring as she moved from her seat. Each step seemed to take an hour to place, and she barely breathed, glancing repeatedly over her shoulder. Wade didn't twitch, there wasn't the slightest change in his breathing. Less then five feet away now. With agonizing slowness, she reached out to the doorknob. Her fingers grazed the cool metal, when the cocking of a gun startled her enough to jerk her hand away from the door. She didn't turn around, just stopped moving and closed her eyes.

"Am I really that bad of company, Miss Jenna?"

The murderer's voice was just as dry and confident as always. He hadn't been sleeping.

"I'll probably lower this pistol if you turn around and come back this way, sweetheart."

It'd been a while since he'd used that name on her. Begrudgingly, she obeyed, turning stiffly and forcing herself back into the room, her eyes always trained on the gun in Wade's skilled hand.

"You don't have to stare at it like that, darlin'," he teased with a small smile, "it's not gonna fire unless I make it."

She didn't answer, tightening her lips and looking pointedly away from the man.

He tilted his head, studying her calmly. "Is it so hard to endure my presence for less than two days, Miss Jenna?" His voice was soft, but she didn't answer him directly.

She cleared her throat, glancing at his stomach. "I should probably check your bandages, Mr. Wade."

He stared at her for another moment, until the burn of his gaze became too hard to resist. Jenna glanced up at him. "Okay," was all he said, and then rose to his feet.

The woman made her way back into the kitchen, finding a new cloth and picking up the small basin of water, along with the bandages, and returned to kneeling beside the outlaw. She said nothing as she pulled up the side of his shirt and tore through the bloody bandage, unwinding it from around his stomach. The wounds had bled more than she'd expected - straight through the pad and wrap. If there was new blood on Wade's shirt, however, it was hidden by the dried old blood. She debated offering to wash it. But for the time being, she kept her jaw set and her eyes down, focusing solely on cleaning the excess blood on the man's skin, and applying a fresh dressing.

"I didn't kill him, you know," Wade's voice was only a murmur, and Jenna glanced up to find his blue-green eyes were dark, staring down at her almost sadly. She didn't reply. "That boy's father, I mean. Dan Evans. I didn't kill him."

Jenna looked away, wrapping the bandaging around the man's torso. "So you had your men kill him. Same difference."

"Is that what you think?"

Dark blue eyes glanced up at him for only a moment. "If this Dan Evans died while in your presence, it's the same as you killing him, Mr. Wade."

"How do you figure?"

"We both know that if you weren't there, or he weren't around you, he'd still be alive right now. But because you _were_ there, you've left that boy without a father."

Wade was silent for a moment, staring at the wooden floorboards and thinking this over. She was right, and it was something he'd known without the woman stating it. Jenna firmly tied the last knot to hold the bandage, and pulled his shirt back in place.

"There. That'll probably be the only change you'll need." She wiped her hands briskly on her dress, and stood to move away.

Wade caught her wrist. She jumped, and glanced down in alarm, to find pale eyes staring at her, eyes that showed the smallest glimmer of remorse and sadness.

"I didn't want him to die, Jenna," Ben said softly, never looking away or loosening his hold. "I grew to like Evans, although I doubt he could say the same for me. He was intelligent. Hard working. Honest. He loved his family." He glanced away, his brow pulling down in sadness at the memories. "And he managed to get me on that train, despite all the trouble my men and I gave him. He kept going, because he had said he would, and because his family needed the money more than they needed him alive. I didn't mean for him to die..."

The surge of emotion-laced words caught Jenna off-guard. She stared for a moment, then found herself turning to face Wade more directly. "..then how did he die?"

Wade swallowed, glancing down briefly. "Charlie Prince. My second-in-command. He showed up right as Evans got me on the train."

Jenna paused, then keeping her voice soft, asked, "Is that why you killed your men?"

Blue-green eyes glanced up at her for a moment, and they were lonely and sad. He nodded once. "Yes. Charlie was loyal as a guard-dog, but as bad-tempered and headstrong as one too. He needed to be put down anyway." He swallowed again, and ran a hand through his chesnut hair. "But I was blinded by my anger when I saw Evans shot, and took it out on all of my men. Figured I'd start over, fresh. So I got on the train myself. I wanted to go to Yuma right then - I wanted Evans to have accomplished his duty before his death, so his boy would have a scrap of good news to tell his mother when he got home. But I couldn't do it. After about a hundred yards, I whistled for my horse." He stopped then, and dropped his head, raising a hand to press into his eyes.

Jenna watched with sympathetic eyes as the toughened, emotionless facade slipped from Ben Wade. She saw him then as a man that had to begun to realize it was too late for him to ever turn away from the renegade life he lived, and was wearied by. Something about this side of the outlaw touched her, and despite her best efforts to keep away from the murderer, she couldn't stop her hand from reaching out to touch his own. He seemed weary and alone, and she thought to offer him a sense of companionship was harmless enough.

Wade looked up at her touch, and his distressed eyes met hers with a surprising force of emotion. "I still see Dan Evans lying in the dirt, covered in his own blood. And I still feel the press of my gun against Charlie's chest... I've never been this bothered by killing." His gravelly voice was thick, as he struggled with his vulnerability. "Jenna Daniels, I don't..I don't understand this."

His statement was a question, and a question she understood. He was asking her why, just then, his toughened exterior was cracking, after the years and years of resistance. Jenna understood the question, but she wasn't sure she knew the answer. "I'm not sure I know, Ben," she answered truly. "Maybe it's just been a while since you've lost someone you've cared about, that wasn't a rotten person." She paused, then added, "No offense to your men."

Wade laughed, short, dry, and bitter. "Oh they were rotten people, Miss Jenna, we both know that." He sobered then, thinking over her words. "But that's a good theory, Miss Jenna, whether I like to admit it or no." He paused again, then glanced up at her slyly, with a flirtatious glint back in his blue-green eyes. The change was so sudden, Jenna couldn't be sure the vulnerability from a minute ago had even existed. "You called me Ben," he said, with a small smirk.

Realizing he was right, the faintest flush touched Jenna's cheeks as she rose up again. "A slip of the tongue, I suppose."

"Is that all your tongue can do?"

The provocative tone and taunting words sent a girlish shiver up Jenna's spine, and she turned away to hide a deeper blush.

"Mr. Wade..." she started, but trailed off, as her tongue couldn't seem to find the right words at such a moment.

A hand grasped hers then and she jumped, but turned to find Ben Wade now standing beside her, gently holding her hand. His soft eyes gazed down at her and her body tingled with the terrifying thought that he might kiss her. He would be the wrong kind of man to slap away, and too strong to fight off. A tremble crept through her limbs. Wade felt it, and his brows furrowed slightly in confusion. He hadn't done anything but taken her hand, an action she'd first instigated. Testing the waters, he raised a hand to touch her cheek. She flinched when his hand came up, but tolerated the brush of his fingers for a moment, like a trapped animal might. Another tremble shook her body, and she finally twisted away.

"Jenna," Ben said softly, studying her curiously, "is something the matter?"

She took a shaky breath, her back to him. "I..I don't feel well, Mr. Wade." She answered lamely. "I think I'm going to lie down." She strode into the living room, Wade following her.

"Where do you sleep when your uncle...when he was alive?" Wade paused, glancing towards the one bedroom. "...you didn't share his bed?"

It seemed as if Jenna stiffened for a moment, before glancing over her shoulder at him. "Of course not. I have a cot, here." From beside the small piano, the woman pulled a folded square of wood and stiff cloth. It unfolded into a medium, one person cot.

Wade eyed it incrediously. "You slept on that, while your uncle got the bed?"

Jenna shrugged, moving around Wade to pull a blanket and pillow from the linen closet. "He was the man of the house. And I didn't mind."

The outlaw didn't believe that for a second, but made no further comment as she laid the bedding on the cot. "How did you come to live with your uncle anyway?"

Jenna glanced at him. "I believe I said I wasn't feeling well, Mr. Wade. Save your questions until the sun comes, will you?" Wade smiled mildly in answer and nodded. "Good. You'll be sleeping here. There's wood beside the fireplace if you get chilled." She flashed him a mocking smile, and turned on her heel towards the bedroom.

Wade stood in the living room for a moment, staring unsurprised and unamused at the inadequate bed. But he felt a headache coming on from the tango of emotions and misinterpretations of the night so far, and unwillingly put himself to sleep.

* * *

The smell of burning woke Jenna Daniels harshly from her slumber. She sat up and glanced wildly around the bedroom, as if she expected to see the timbers smoldering around her. But the room was fine, although the stinging, smoky smell remained. She was stepping out of bed and into a long robe when something clattered from the direction of the kitchen, and was briefly followed by a curse. Worried, and admittedly a little amused, Jenna padded quietly out of the bedroom.

She paused at the edge of the kitchen, taking in the sight. A small pan sizzled and smoked on the stove, a plate lay upside down on the floor - a couple pieces of ham lay beside it -, and another pan hissed, steaming, in water in the sink. Ben Wade had heard her approach amid the noise of the disaster he was steadily causing, and stood beside the fallen plate and food, looking equally embarrassed and amused.

"Problems, Mr. Wade?" Jenna asked through a smirk.

He glanced down at the plate by his feet, and then the smoking mess on the stove. "A few."

Jenna smiled slightly, and made her way to the stove, where she put out the flame and removed the pan. It appeared to contain what had once been eggs. "I hope you know we don't have enough food to destroy it like this regularly, Mr. Wade."

"Sorry Miss Jenna, things got a little out of hand," he picked up the plate and meat from the floor, "It's, uh, been a while since I've cooked a meal."

"You could've fooled me."

He offered an uncomfortable half-smile, then glanced down at the ham he was holding. "What ought I to do with this?"

"Put it back on the plate, and set it on the counter. The neighbor's dogs will like it."

Wade obeyed, and then fell silent as Jenna helped him clean up the soiled breakfast. She trashed the ruined eggs, took the attempted potatoes from the other pan and included them with the ham for the dogs, and then had Wade draw some more water so she could wash the dishes. Then she was quite literally up to her elbows in soap and water, scrubbing the black burns from the pans as best she could. Wade stood awkwardly nearby for a moment, then just sat himself at the table.

Jenna glanced at him. "Looks like breakfast today will be toast, Mr. Wade. Hand me that towel." The man did as told, handing her the hand towel sitting beside him. She dried her hands, and then reached into one of the few cupboards to pull out a brown sack, the wrappings of a loaf of bread. "There should be a bit of butter in the root cellar, just outside-" she paused, studying him for a moment. "The eggs and meat were in the root cellar. How did you find them?"

Wade smiled faintly. "I don't sleep very heavy or for very long, Miss Jenna. I got to exploring."

She eyed him warily, beginning to scrub at the dishes again. "You better not have taken anything."

Still, the outlaw smiled mildly. "I'm a coach-robber and murderer, Miss Jenna; not a petty thief." He ducked out the front door then, going around the house to the root cellar.

Jenna stood washing the dishes, debating whether or not his words were reassuring.

Wade appeared just a couple minutes later, laden with butter, a jar of jam, and a couple eggs. He set them tenderly down on the counter, and looked expectantly at the smaller woman, who was just finishing washing the second pan.

"I told you we don't have a lot of extra to spare, Mr. Wade."

"It's just a couple eggs, Miss Jenna. If you think I'm such a thief, I could steal a few for you to make up for the ones I ruined."

Jenna shot him a look, unamused. "Dry these pans for me." As Wade did so, she cut a few slices from the thick loaf of bread, and readied them with butter and jam, then sat them on two fresh plates. Wade handed her the smaller pan, and she cracked the eggs into it, setting it on the stove to fry. The meal was prepared quickly and properly, meagre though it was. Jenna took the smaller piece of bread, and only one of the eggs, giving the rest to the larger man. She couldn't help but wonder how, now that her uncle was dead, they were to get money for food. She'd likely have to pick up a job - which shouldn't be too hard; with a third of the town dead, there would be some openings.

Ben Wade watched Jenna from underneath his lashes as they ate in silence. She was obviously deep in thought, her clear blue eyes focused solely on her plate or the woodwork of the table. Her brow was furrowed slightly as she thought, and Wade wondered what troubled her. Ashamedly, he glanced down at his own plate. He'd tried to make breakfast as an unspoken apology for making her uncomfortable last night, and instead just caused more of a problem. Generally, he couldn't have cared less. But Ben Wade was known for being a little soft on the women, and he was inconveniencing her enough with his presence, he didn't need to make matters any worse. But they only had to make it through the day, and he'd be out of her hair.

"That was very good, Miss Jenna," he complimented as they both finished their plates.

She barely glanced at him. "It was toast and eggs, Mr. Wade. Simple enough."

His pale, intelligent eyes followed her as she picked up both of their plates, and made her way to the sink, where she began scrubbing them. The woman wouldn't let him touch her, wouldn't even take a compliment from him. She was a challenge. He smiled slightly to himself, and then rose to his feet.

"I can take care of those, Miss Jenna, if you'd like to get dressed."

She glanced at him, internally debating if the matter was worth arguing, then shrugged and left the kitchen. Wade watched her go, and then turned his gaze to the task at hand with a sigh. Another benefit to his rogue life - with him in charge, others did any dishes for him. But he could do it this once. He plunged his hands into the soapy water.


	5. Beware the Line

**Thank you everyone so, so much for your fantastic comments. They really mean so much to me :) I'm thrilled people are enjoying this story, and hope you still do by the time it ends.**

**Cheers! xx**

* * *

Minutes later, Jenna appeared back in the kitchen, wearing a simple, proper yellow dress. Wade was sitting leisurely at the table, cleaning the Hand of God with a small cloth he'd found, and glanced up as she entered. Jenna didn't miss his glance down her body, but neither made a comment about it.

"I need to do something about my uncle today," said Jenna.

"Such as?"

"Claim the body, make funeral arrangements, something."

Wade glanced at her again. "Every person in this town is going to be doing that. I don't think it'll hurt if you hold off a day."

"And if someone comes asking questions?"

"You make something up. You're not feeling well, or whatever. You just keep people away until I leave."

"So you're not letting me leave my house?"

"I never said that." Wade looked over at her, slipping his gun back into it's holster. She didn't like the inflection of his voice. "You're going to leave your house, but with me."

Panic began to creep into Jenna Daniels. "What do you mean, Mr. Wade?"

"Don't worry, I don't mean I'm taking you with me when I haul out of here. But I've got my horse, see, and I locked him up in corral just a few houses away. I need to check on him." The outlaw rose to his feet, his calm eyes never leaving Jenna's face. "I don't quite trust leaving you here alone, Miss Jenna. So if you'd be so kind as to accompany me..." Wade made his way to the front door, and then stood beside it expectantly.

Jenna hesitated, watching him warily. "Right now?"

"The sooner it's done with, the easier, Miss Jenna. C'mon, it'll only be a minute. I just wanna make sure no one's bothered 'im." Slowly, the woman stepped forward, until Wade opened the door for her. She glanced towards the street, lamenting more than ever before that she and her uncle lived on the edge of the small town. At this distance it'd be difficult to slip away from Wade and run for help. Pointless, most likely. As if he knew her thoughts, Jenna felt Wade's hand slip around her right arm, casually holding her close to him.

They walked behind the houses, no one to see them but the open land on their right, the houses shielding them on the left. They walked towards the station, up to the corrals built there. Jenna saw the pen with the horses, but couldn't be sure which one was Wade's. She'd heard he rode a big black beast, but there were two black animals in the corral. Once they reached the wooden barrier keeping them from the horses, Wade whistled a couple notes. One of the black horses, dark as coal and glistening like silk, turned away from the others and trotted towards them, tossing it's great head. Jenna glanced up at Wade to see him smile the sweet smile he had, and reach up with the hand that wasn't holding her to pat the horse's neck.

"Well, he certainly looks fine. And he's still here, which is what I was mainly worried about. How long do you think it'll take your folk to notice him?"

Jenna shrugged slightly. "I couldn't really say. Depends on when the next time someone goes riding is." Wade studied her, obviously hoping for a clearer answer. "If you leave tomorrow morning, Mr. Wade, I doubt they'll have noticed him. Right now there are bigger problems."

"My hopes exactly. Well then, our task is done, Miss Jenna." Wade turned them around then, sneaking a look for the crate with roped tied around it. He spotted it and was reassured enough to continue on, and march Jenna back to the house.

"If we're out, Mr. Wade, can't we just stop at the sheriff's and talk to them about my uncle right now?"

A short laugh broke from the man's lips. "Do you honestly believe I am that näive, Miss Jenna? Have you any idea just how many wanted posters are bound to be in there, with my face on them?" He chuckled again, shaking his head. "No way in hell, Miss Jenna. No way in hell."

She set her jaw, frustrated and disliking more with every minute the pull of Ben Wade's hand on her arm. "Fine then, not the sheriff's, but the caretaker's, or something?"

Wade barely glanced at her. "Miss Jenna, you have yet to even shed a tear for your uncle. Why in the world are you so persistent with seeing him put to rest? Surely not because gettin' me in a public place would make it easier to get me caught?" She didn't answer, and it seemed his glance became harder. "Just one more day, Miss Jenna, I think you can handle that."

He pushed her none too gently towards the door then, as they came to the bottom steps of the porch. Jenna stumbled for a moment, shooting a glare over her shoulder at the man, and then tossed her hair back, striding into the house. Wade paused for a moment before the door, glancing around behind him, but the town was still. Hardly at ease, he slipped inside.

Inside the small house, Jenna abruptly ignored Wade and began needlessly cleaning: sweeping, dusting, scrubbing the floors, rearranging what few idle possessions there were, and so on. Wade ignored her as well, laying himself on the loveseat and picking up another pencil and book to decorate. He knew he was being juvenile, purposefully sketching on books because it annoyed Jenna, but at the moment he didn't really care. Instead he sketched the Hand of God in one, then his legs and boots from the angle as he saw them in another novel, before rising and attempting to engage Jenna in conversation. His attempts failed, as instead she answered him curtly - if at all - and then gathered some clothes to do laundry.

"You'll be doing it inside, you know that?"

The woman looked at him hard. "How am I to do that, ?"

He shrugged. "_How_ is not my concern. In the sink, if you must. I'll pull you the water. But I'm not trusting you to stay outside for an hour just to do laundry, and I'm too comfortable in here to follow and watch you."

She pressed her lips into a line. "Fine. Get the water." Wade did so, pouring it into both sides of the small sink. Jenna had placed the basket of dirty dresses on the counter, and eyed the man as he deposited the last bucket of water in the sink. "Do you want your shirt washed?"

Wade glanced down at himself, noting the patches of dirt and frayed edges before the splash of dried blood. "I haven't got another."

"You can wear one of my uncle's while yours is drying."

She turned and disappeared into the bedroom, returning briefly with a loose, forest-green plaid shirt. Wade tried not to make a face at the droll cloth, and began unbuttoning his own once-cream-colored shirt. A small smile touched his lips as he noted Jenna looking purposefully away as the shirt fell further open. She handed him the clean piece of clothing, and her eyes fell on a broad chest as the shirts exchanged hands.

Jenna cleared her throat, turning around to face the sink again. "In the cupboard on the left there should be a small wrapped package of smoked beef. If you're hungry, you can have some of that with bread and butter for lunch."

Wade glanced at the indicated cupboard and nodded. "Thank you much, Miss Jenna. For the washing and the food."

The woman didn't answer, and didn't turn away from her task.

Wade ate the small meal quietly and alone, then returned to his place on the couch to continue to incessant drawings. The food and lazy warmth of the house put him into a doze, but by the time he jolted awake, Jenna was just finishing with the washing. He alternated between sketching and carefully watching her hang the clothes outside to dry - growing tense every time she seemed to be taking longer than necessary - and then was halfway through a sketch of the piano when Jenna appeared before him, done with her tasks. Wade glanced out the window to see the sun had fallen considerably lower. He looked back at the small woman, but she only glanced at him before turning to the piano herself. Wade watched in faint entertainment as she slid back the cover for the keys, and lightly pressed a few notes. His hand started moving again, adding into his sketch a pretty woman at the keys, as the short, sweet tunes she played out soothed themselves into his mind.

The music was calming and relaxing, and Jenna herself wasn't entirely sure what made her decide to sit down and play. She wasn't very skilled at it, normally playing when she was home alone - or her uncle demanded it. But it was something to do and it calmed her mind, forced her to focus on something besides the murderer lying on her sofa, vandalizing her books.

"You play well."

She started, her fingers slipping from the keys. "Not very."

"You play better than myself."

A small smile touched her lips. "Pardon me if I doubt that's hard to do." She turned to look at Wade then, and found him smiling warmly over the edge of a book.

"You're not wrong."

Silence fell then, and Jenna grew uncomfortable, unnervingly aware again of just who it was that gazed at her. She stood up, smoothing her dress and moving into the kitchen. "It's evening now. I imagine you're hungry?" She could hear Wade shifting on the couch.

"I wouldn't mind a bite." He sauntered casually into the small kitchen space. "Any way I could help?"

Jenna eyed him for a moment, ever wary. "You could get some salted pork from the root cellar, along with a jar of fruit and a flagon of beer if you'd like." Wade nodded, and turned to do her bidding. The woman watched him for a moment, before pulling out the loaf of bread again, along with a couple carrots and onions recently torn from the garden.

When Wade returned, he cut the carrots and onions into pieces as Jenna sliced the bread and seasoned the meat. When both were done, she tossed the meat and vegetables into a shallow pan with some water to cook through. The bread she spared a little more of the butter with, setting it in preparation on the table and following with a mug of beer for Wade and water for herself.

"Mind me askin' how it is you've got your own beer here?" Wade rested his arms on the back of one of the chairs, watching Jenna leisurely.

"My uncle," she answered, turning back to check on the main dish, "he...he liked to have a drink now and again without having to go to the saloon. So we've got a few bottles in the cellar."

Ben Wade nodded in mild reply, and Jenna poked at the meat and vegetables again.

"I think this is about done. We've got fruit for a dessert of sorts, if you'd like," she gestured towards the jar of peaches that Wade had set beside the sink. The man made no comment, merely sat himself at the table, as Jenna transferred the pork and vegetables from the stove to their plates. He was well-mannered enough to wait until she seated herself across from him to eat, and he took a couple careful bites while watching her do the same.

"It's very good," he complimented. Jenna offered a mild smile, but no more. The faintest sense of frustration touched the man then. He'd been basically living with the woman for a day now, treated her - in his eyes - fairly well, and yet still she remained as distant as from the start. He was Ben Wade - he was deadly and intelligent and charming and could have any woman. But this one didn't want _him_. What about her blushes and nervous glances? He knew what they meant; he could see the effect a smile or special glance from him had on her. Yet now, the night before he'd be leaving her forever, she implicated nothing towards him.

Another thought touched Wade then: he still didn't know the story on her uncle. When the man had come to the door and told her of her uncle's death, she should have at least shed some tears, if not collapsed sobbing or whatever it was women usually did. But no. And still he had yet to see the faintest glimmer of grief over the death of her relative. Perhaps she cried while in her bed at night, this was true, but she still should show some sadness when he mentioned the man. But she hadn't. And another curious thing, Wade thought as he chewed on the pork, was her terror of being touched. Sure, advances from Arizona's most-wanted murderer might be a little intimidating, but he'd been gentle. He could still feel her trembling under his fingertips. The fear and unease that had been in the lovely woman's dark blue eyes intrigued him, bothered him, maybe. He glanced up at her again, thoughts running silently through his mind.

The meal finished too quickly for Ben Wade, as part of him lamented the swift passing of hours. He helped Jenna tidy the table, handing her the dishes and setting out small bowls for the fruit. While he did so, she scrubbed at the pan in the sink, cleaning up the mess before a new one came along. Wade paused, standing behind her at the sink, studying the line of her back and movement of her shoulders, covered delicately in the waves of dark gold hair. Impulsively, he reached forward and brushed aside the curtain of hair from her neck, taking a step closer. Jenna jumped, dropping the dish she'd been holding, and then suddenly freezing. Wade had paused at her reaction, but when she didn't move, he dared venture further.

His right hand gently carressed her neck, while his left rose to touch at her waist, his body pulling slightly closer again. "Jenna, it's alright.." he murmered softly, feeling the warmth of her body through his touch, smelling the faint sweet scent of her skin. He dared to inch closer, and then the woman whirled beneath his touch, knocking his left arm aside and swiping at the right. Wade recoiled with a hiss of surprise and pain - the woman had gotten him with something sharp. He glanced down at her right hand as he held his own. She was holding a small knife. Alarm and confusion knit together on his brow. "What the hell?"

"I've told you before - don't touch me." Her breathing was heavy, as if her distress was exerting.

Wade stared at her for a moment, then examined his hand. On the edge of his palm he now had a bleeding gash nearly two inches long, and it was beginning to drip onto the floor. "Fuck, woman. Bit of a temper there, don't you think?" She just narrowed her eyes, knuckles white as she still gripped the blade. "What in the hell is your problem with being touched?"

She breathed heavily for a moment. "I don't appreciate feeling like..like an object."

"I'm not trying to- Jesus, this stings," Wade breathed in sharply, carefully holding his bleeding hand. Taking a slow breath, he carefully lifted his eyes to hers, keeping his voice low. "I didn't mean to make you feel like an object, Jenna. My actions just..got away from my mind, for a minute." He worked to keep his temper down, reminding himself he needed to keep this woman on his side for the time being. "I'm sorry."

The small woman stared at him for a long moment, her breathing slowing down, her grip on the knife loosening slightly. Her dark eyes searched his for the while, and finally he saw the slightest relaxation in her rigid muscles. "And I'm..I'm sorry about your hand," she weakly apologized, putting the small knife back on the counter. "I just...have reactions, sometimes..and with you being Ben Wade and all.." Her eyes flicked nervously up at him again.

He held her gaze level. "I understand."

She looked away. "Sit down, and I'll wrap your hand." She moved away before Wade could say anything, going to the closet to fetch bandages once more.

Wade looked down at the fair puddle of blood he was creating, and moved to seat himself again, observing the wound. It wasn't bad, just fresh, and now all but his fingers were seeped in red. He felt it run to the back of his hand, where it dripped again to the clean spot of floor. Jenna entered then, pulling a chair beside him rather than kneeling on the bloody floor, taking a cloth and wiping away the excess blood, then sternly tearing a piece of bandaging to wrap around his hand. Wade couldn't help but find himself more than trifle confused, as the same woman that had just cut open his skin was now mildly bandaging it back together. What in the hell?

"Miss Jenna?" He said her name gently, almost asking for her permission to speak.

She glanced up, her hands working slowly. "Yes?"

He paused, studying her for a heartbeat, before continuing, "May I be forward?"

She smiled faintly. "You're Ben Wade. I think you can do as you like. You're the one with a gun, after all."

Wade stayed quiet for a moment - that was not quite the answer he'd been looking for, nor did it particularly please him. But she was right, and pretty courtesies were fast becoming tiring. "Ignoring the fact I _am_ a murdering outlaw and the like - why are you so skittish about being touched?" He tilted his head, intelligent eyes watching the woman carefully. "Is it because of your uncle?"

Jenna's movements had paused at his first question, and her mouth tightened at the second. Barely a reaction, but it was plenty for Wade.

"Mr. Wade..." she started.

"It is because of your uncle," Wade confirmed, "Now how's that? He touch you? Do something to you? Miss Jenna?" His head lowered further, his eyes burning for her to meet them.

She moved her head stiffly, always keeping her eyes lowered, and pulled her hands away from Wade's freshly-bandaged one. She rose to dispose of the dirty cloth and replace the roll of bandages. "Mr. Wade, I'm not comfortable-"

His arrogance and sense of authority overriding his common sense, Wade caught her wrist. "Miss Daniels, I _am_ the one with a gun, after all." He didn't want to have to threaten her, but Ben Wade wasn't known for his patience.

Jenna froze, looking down at him with the faintest touch of fear. She swallowed, seeing she had no way out but to answer. "Yes, Mr. Wade. Does that satisfy you?"

A faint smile touched Wade's features. "Not remotely."


	6. Across the Line

**I apologize for how short this chapter is, but I had to stop there: next chapter is the finale. Yes, the story is over that quickly. I did say it was a short one :) Which is admittedly quite a relief, considering my LOTR one has been going on for over a year...whew. I miss the feeling of accomplishment one gets when a story is _finished, _lol! Thank you all for reading**

**Cheers!**

* * *

"There's a story, Miss Jenna, I saw that yesterday. Why don't you show any grief for the death of that uncle of yours? He was your only family left, from the looks of this empty house." The outlaw's blue-green eyes held Jenna's with a magnetism that she could not break from.

Jenna didn't want to tell him anything. It seemed to her that to tell would reveal weaknesses, and she didn't need any more of those revealed to the dangerous man before her. But he was demanding, and armed. And would be gone tomorrow before noon anyway - so he claimed. She just hoped he held to it.

Jenna took a slow breath, turning to face Wade fully. "My parents were both killed in a shootout at a saloon when I was nine. My uncle had lived with us already, and when they died, the house remained under his name, and me with it. Things were fine until I got about fifteen. Then my uncle was always telling me how pretty I was, and looking at me funny. One night he got drunk and made a grab at me." The woman shifted, lifting her chin. "I knocked him away, and he was quick to apologize. Nothing more happened until I was nearly twenty. Then he was even more drunk. He.." she swallowed nervously, "knocked me down and tore open my clothes. Again, I knocked him away, to the point of unconsciousness. He was a lazy drunk. But, from then on, he was always drunk. Always-" Jenna stopped, swallowing again, and squaring herself up to Wade.

"Tell me, Ben Wade, should I cry for an uncle that spent anything he made and most of what I made on drinking? Or gambling? Or prostitutes? Should I cry for an uncle that I couldn't hardly turn my back to, for fear of getting grabbed at? A man that would've forced me into his bed if he'd been more stable on his own two feet?" She paused, her chest nearly heaving with restrained anger. "Does _that_ satisfy you?"

Wade gazed at the golden-haired woman before him, unable to bury his attraction to see her so worked up and lively. Her tale hardly surprised him, as he'd already guessed something very near the mark. He did pity her, however; a young pretty thing trapped in a house with such a foul man that would mistreat her. More than anything though, Wade was pleased to have finally urged the story out of her. His response was not one that Jenna expected: Wade remained silent, nodding slightly and lowering his eyes, then turning and walking to the lonely living room. He had only just picked up his most recent sketching piece when he heard footsteps enter behind him.

"What's this supposed to mean?" Jenna asked, "No reply? You make me tell you that, and you just walk away?"

Wade glanced over at the woman, features expressionless. He said nothing.

"Mr. Wade, answer me." Her dark eyes had hardened considerably, and she clenched her jaw, anger masking the feeling of exposure she had just created.

"When I was eight, my mother abandoned me at a train station. Gave me a bible, told me to read it, and then left to get our tickets. Only she never came back with any tickets. I was abandoned, then taken into an orphanage I disliked and abruptly ran away from, and brought myself up - to turn out like this." Wade turned to face Jenna more fully, lifting his head and bringing his eyes to hers. "I've got along fine. Not in the approved way, perhaps, but in the way that suits me. And, to this day, decades later, I have a problem with women. My boys used to say I was too soft on 'em, but that's not exactly, mind my manners, all in hopes that they won't despise me, or leave me." He looked away finally, smiling ruefully. "It's foolish and senseless, but it's a handicap of mine, if you will. So does _that_ satisfy _you_, Miss Jenna?"

Jenna Daniels stared at Ben Wade for a long moment, not knowing how to react. Whatever she had expected from him, that had certainly not been it. And now, as she looked at him, she saw again that weary man, bereft of companionship and roughness, become lonely. His eyes were warm, but mildly distressed. "Why did you tell me that, Mr. Wade?" She asked carefully.

The man shrugged, almost unnoticably stepping closer. "You allowed yourself to be vulnerable for me, I repaid the favour. I did say I have a weakness for women, after all."

Jenna watched him closely. "You said you have a _problem_ with women."

He smiled warmly, allowing charm to seep out, and gliding a step closer. "Isn't a weakness a problem?" Jenna just watched him, her eyes trapped within his. "I told you that tale, Miss Jenna Daniels, because I want you to know that despite who I am and what I've done, I would never purposefully cause you harm. I want you to know that," he repeated softly, close enough for his gravelly murmur to be heard.

Wade's next move was clear to Jenna, although he hesitated in wait for her permission. He said nothing, didn't move at all, but she could read the idea in his eyes. The soft, blue-green eyes that bore straight into her mind, and seemed to speak without words. There was a magnetism in the man's presence, a magnetism he surely knew about and used often to his advantage. The roughness of his appearance contrasted with the kindliness of his manner, just as his dark and gritty reputation contrasted with his speech. The contrasts were attractive and intriguing, and he knew it, and used it - just like now. And of all things, curiosity is what finally won Jenna Daniels over.

The outlaw's mouth was gentle, and tender. His lips took possession of hers slowly, and her eyes slid closed of their own accord. She flinched slightly when a hand reached up to cradle her jaw, but was soothed by the persuasion of Wade's mouth on hers. He was gentle, taking her upper lip and then her lower, kissing her fully, and then pulling away. She stood frozen for a moment, her mouth still open and eyes closed, until the movement of the man's thumb caressing the edge of her jaw brought her to attention.

His eyes were even closer than before, and she felt as if she would collapse from the force of them. The heat of his body was against hers and, although at first discomforting, she found it to be welcome and stabilizing. His other hand raised to cradle the other side of her jaw, so that he held her face delicately in his rough hands, his fingers in her dark gold hair. A soft, warming smile lit his features.

"See sweetheart?" He whispered, his low voice rough and breath warm. "Not all touches are bad, are they?"

Jenna couldn't help the girlish flush or soft smile that touched her face, and she had no idea of the arousal it sparked within the outlaw. All she knew was his touch and mouth, as he kissed her again, harder than before.

* * *

The morning came cooler than usual, and neither persons in the small house were aware of it until the sun was high enough to shine through the window and onto Jenna Daniels' face. She winced in the harsh light, covering her eyes with her hand and turning out of the bed. She dug her wrist tiredly into her eyes then, before glancing back at the bed. Some strange part of her had expected to see another form there, and was irrationally disappointed when she found it empty. Nothing had happened the night before that gave her reason to look for company, but it seemed like the instinctive thing to do. Banishing the vague disappointment, she rose, and dressed into a comfortable loose dress.

Ben Wade was asleep in the small cot, his form an awkward fit in the dainty contraption. Both feet hung over the end, one arm had slipped to the floor, and a handful of his brown hair had fallen over his face. But Jenna smiled upon seeing him, finding a blanket of ease draped over her as she remembered Wade's kisses and caresses from the night before. He had spoken softly to her, murmuring gentle words in her ear with that sensual, gravelly voice that had mesmerized many women before her. He'd eased her to sit beside him on the couch, and kissed her again, overriding her senses. His hands roamed carefully - and fairly modestly - around her body, whispering soft words in her ear whenever he felt her tense, and placing his lips on hers again. Wade had done precisely what Jenna most needed, and not at all what she might have expected - he'd held her close in his strong arms, against his broad chest, and kissed her gently.

Jenna set about making a breakfast for them as quietly as she could, but Wade was a light and restless sleeper, and woke before she came back inside from the root cellar. She entered the house again to find him standing beside the table, looking rumpled and tired, but offering a warm smile nonetheless.

"Mornin'," he said.

Jenna nodded, returned a soft smile, and set a skillet on the stove, then lit it. Wade watched her for a moment, idly massaging his aching wounded hand with his healthy one.

"I apologize for last night, Jenna," he broke the silence, "Now that I think back on it, it was very...out of line. Not that I didn't enjoy it," he added, with a flash of his usual charm and nonchalance, "but I don't want you thinking I just did it because I'm leavin' soon-" He stopped then, seeing the look on her face.

The woman's mood fell swiftly at the mention of his leaving, as it had nearly slipped her mind - her mind, which had been occupied with nothing but the girlish reminiscing of the outlaw's kisses. "No need for apologies, Mr. Wade," she replied formally, tossing several thick pieces of bacon on skillet, which hissed and spat satisfactorily, "I didn't exactly discourage you, now did I?" She flashed a quick smile, but the man's features were sober.

"It's 'Mr. Wade' again now, is it?" He asked softly, the faintest inflection of hurt in his voice.

Jenna paused in her idle cooking, and studied the man for a moment. "No, Ben," she finally said softly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. It's just that..it's hard. I mean, last night was very different circumstances and everything-"

"Doesn't have to be," he murmured, before sweeping quickly forward and slipping a hand into her hair, to pull her face to his.

The collision of their mouths bewildered Jenna once more, as she inhaled the wild scent of the man and gripped his shoulders in her hands. His own hands - bandaged one included - worked their way into her hair, holding her to his body as the heat of his touch and mouth overwhelmed her. It was passionate to a degree that hadn't been shown the night before, as if Wade was trying to make a point - which he very well might have been, for all Jenna knew. The man's mouth captivated her own, his tongue daring and careful, but accepted into the kiss without hesitation. He trailed his good hand down to her waist, caressing it gently, and then using it to pull her even closer as his kiss pressed deeper. Finally Jenna pulled away, strongly, and with a gasp for breath. Wade didn't completely let her go, but rather gently held her lovely face in his hands.

Her dark blue eyes gazed desperately into the outlaw's, and she bit her lip - Wade's eyes could not keep from dropping to the action, and eyeing her mouth hungrily. "Ben," she said softly, but the speaking of his first name was enough to gain his full attention, "Ben, as much as I don't want to admit this, I...I am very..pleased that..this, happened. However," she took a breath and dropped his gaze, slowly pulling his hands from her and taking a half-step back. Then she looked up at him, squarely in the eyes. "You _are_ leaving in just a few hours. What is the purpose of this?"

"There is no purpose, Jenna," Wade whispered earnestly, "no purpose other than what's obvious: I want you with me."

"Ben.."

"You can come with me! I can keep you safe, you gotta know that-"

"Ben-"

"No one will have a clue you've gone with me, and it'll be-"

"Ben! _Enough_," Jenna's voice gained authority, enough to silence the man for the time being, "You know that's crazy-talk. You're going to be hunted even more after what happened here. I can't go with you."

"Jenna, they can't catch me," he insisted, with a note that declared he truly believed just so, "and if they do, they can't hold me. I've been sent to Yuma three times now, and escaped every time."

"You're an outlaw, Ben. You're dangerous."

He flashed a mischievous smile. "Would you have it any other way? You know that's half the attraction, sweetheart." Jenna looked away. "Jenna, darlin', listen - I can keep you safe, I promise. I've never caused harm to a woman. That ain't my game." He watched her, soft eyes almost pleading. "Jenna, please."

The woman watched him for a long, silent moment, turmoil shifting inside her. She finally looked away. "Breakfast's burning."


	7. So Quickly

**Alright folks, here is the finale. I hope you enjoy it, no matter how it ends. Thank you all so, so much for reading - I really didn't expect this much feedback! So thank you all very much :)**

**Stay well!**

* * *

The small meal was meagre and quiet, Wade sneaking glances from beneath his brows at the woman across from him. She never returned the looks. The right thing to say eluded him, and silence fell heavily, and remained throughout the meal and clean-up. Finally the two came to a lull in activity, and were forced to face each other. Jenna made her way to the small living room, and quietly took up her needlepoint again. Wade stood in the doorway and watched her.

"I should get my horse," he finally commented idly, shifting.

Jenna didn't look up. "Okay," she paused, tossing the man a glance, "You need me to accompany you again?"

Wade shook his head. "No. I trust you well enough."

The woman took little mind of his words, focusing back on her task. "Okay then."

Wade sighed, turning away and echoing her, "Okay then.."

He left the house quietly, glancing around in his usual precautionary manner, before slipping behind the wooden building, into the shadows. He strode quickly and quietly behind the houses back to the corral with his mount, and the crate with his belongings. Coming to the crate first, he tore one of the boards off and pulled out his bridle. Going to the small wooden pen of horses, he whistled his short tune and the big black quickly broke away towards him. With a smile and murmur of encouragement, Wade slipped the headstall over the beast's head, and led it obediently back to the crate. He pulled out the expensive saddle then, and tossed it onto the horse's back, hoping no one would notice as he led it back to Jenna's. The beast held still, nudging the outlaw affectionately, and allowed the girth to be fastened snug.

Wade glanced into the crate again, and pulled out his holster and belt, then secured it comfortably back around his waist. He hadn't completely realized just how exposed he felt without it. Relocating the Hand of God from his trousers to the holster, then grabbing up his hat and vest - but not putting them on just yet - Ben sighed, and paused. Here was Ben Wade, coming back together. He could practically feel the change just an animal and some clothes had on him. It felt right, more wholesome, and he was reminded again of who he was and what he did. Tired of sneaking about in a weak disguise, Wade was sorely tempted to put his hat and vest on, but didn't want to risk someone identifying him from his trademark clothes - having the gun open at his waist was risk enough. Instead he held back, placing the fabric pieces of himself in the horse's saddle bag, and leading it through the shadows back to Jenna Daniels' house.

He tied the horse loosely at the back of the small house, knowing it wouldn't try to get away, and slipped discreetly back through the door. "Jenna?" He called needlessly, as she hadn't moved from her place on the loveseat, working with the needle and thread and cloth.

She looked up. "So you're all ready then?"

He nodded.

"Does that mean you're leaving now, or...?"

He shrugged. "I suppose so. No reason to delay." He paused, becoming slightly uncomfortable. "The clouds are dark; it looks like rain."

"That'd be something, it hardly ever rains," she smiled slightly, before taking a breath. "Right," Jenna rose, smoothing her skirts formally, "well, you don't mind if I see you off?"

"No at all." Wade smiled softly, allowing her to pass by him into the kitchen, and he snuck a glance at her needlepoint. He saw black, silver and gold forming the outline of a pistol. Another small smile twisted his mouth.

Jenna pulled the rest of the loaf of bread from the cupboard, along with some salted pork and cheese she'd gotten from the cellar. She wrapped them all in a cloth, and turned to hand them to the outlaw. "I'm sure you can find better fare at the next town, but I don't exactly know where you're going, so if it takes longer than a night's travel, this is for a couple meals." Wade hesitated. "Take it, Ben, I don't mind."

He obliged with a nod. "Thank you, Jenna."

She nodded stiffly, and then glanced around the room. "Well...I guess that's it." With that statement, the woman turned and stepped out the front door. Wade hesitated only a moment before following, and finding her going to the back of the house where his horse still waited. "You have a canteen?" The man pulled the small jug from a saddle bag and handed it to the woman, who moved to the water pump a yard away and quickly filled, then returned it.

"Thank you, again," Wade offered, keeping his voice soft.

The woman shrugged, finally looking up at him with a small smile. "It's nothing." She looked at the horse for a moment, then up at the clouds that had indeed turned a harsh charcoal. "That'll be a big one; you'll want to get a good start."

Wade nodded, glancing up as well, and then pulling his hat and vest from his saddle bag and slipped them on. Jenna's hands beat his to the buttons of the vest though, and he let her fasten the ivory circles, taking the moment to study her calm, sweet features. She was so mild and gentle, far nicer than he deserved, and he saw now the irrationality of his earlier words. There's no way he could ever take her with him, not on his path. Women often did have the effect of irrationality on his part, however; this time he was just glad she'd stopped him.

"There," she declared as the last button notched into place, and she offered a soft smile up at him.

Wade smiled back, rugged features gentling with the action. "Walk with me for a bit?" He offered.

Jenna glanced up at the clouds, then nodded. "Sure."

The man untied his horse, and it turned it around to face east, directly away from Yuma. He took a step forward, and the big beast obediently walked with him, Jenna trailing beside as well.

Faintly, Wade recalled what had been his original purpose for hiding in Contention instead of heading for open land immediately after the shoot-out. He glanced behind them, at the quiet houses on the still street. There was a boy somewhere in there, a fatherless boy that had only misery to bring back to his family. Misery, and two hundred dollars, at least. "When you get back to the town, Miss Jenna, could you do me a favour?"

"I suppose so."

"There's a boy, fourteen or fifteen, that lost his father in the shoot-out-"

"The boy who's father your men killed?"

Wade paused, the sudden memory of Dan Evans body thrown against the train from the force of bullets, smearing the wood with blood, flashing in his eyes. Just when he'd thought his pathetic sensitivty at the memory had faded. "Yeah, that' him. I just want-...Do you think you coul, y'know, make sure he gets back home to his family alright?" He paused again, "And make sure he's got at least two hundred dollars from Mr. Butterfield on 'im."

Jenna didn't appear to fully understand the matter, but she did not question it, dark eyes studying the bothered outlaw. "Of course, Ben. I'll do what I can." Wade said nothing more then, just nodded appreciatively and watched the dry ground. Jenna remained quiet another couple breaths, and then said, "You've given me an interesting couple of days, Mr. Wade."

He smiled slightly, glancing over at her before gazing out at the dull, open land. "I'm going to take that as a compliment. Thank you, Jenna, for keeping me."

"Not like I had much choice."

"True," he smiled again, "but thank you nonetheless." The woman nodded. "I apologize for pulling my gun on you a few times, as well," he added.

The woman just shrugged, keeping her eyes down.

Wade faced her, but kept walking. "You wouldn't-...I don't-" he paused, "nevermind."

Jenna looked up at the man, who now steadfastly kept his eyes away. It was unusual to find Ben Wade at loss for words, as he always had the smoothest and most clever comeback to anything. But he seemed unsure of himself now.

It was then that three almost simultaneous cracks, sharper than thunder, sounded behind the two persons. Two of them bit at the dirt behind Jenna and Wade's feet, kicking up dust, while the third threw Jenna forward. Wade whirled as the woman stumbled, his pistol flashing out and two shots firing off wildly. He saw a handful of figures beside Jenna's house, and each appeared to have a rifle. At his return fire the untrained men dashed for cover, which meant hiding around or inside the woman's empty home.

The night before, word had reached the Contention station via telegram that the outlaw Ben Wade had not been on the train for Yuma at the checkpoint. It was decided he must have escaped, and a search was to immediately be set, with the price of his head going up. The man to recieve this telegram was Jacob Call, and he relayed it to the posse of men that had declared themselves the new sheriff and deputies - one of which was Rory Johnston. The news of Wade's escape kept the men entertained for only a while, before they began talking about those that had been killed when the outlaw passed through the town. Johnston mentioned Jenna Daniels, mentioned that she hadn't yet come to claim her uncle's body. A different man in the group told that his son claimed to have seen a strange man enter Jenna's house, the day of the shootout. Things began to piece together in the men's minds, and Johnston mentioned vaguely that Jenna Daniels had acted strangely when he'd shown up at her door. Suddenly it seemed clear to them all. A little preposterous, perhaps, but clear: Ben Wade was hiding out in Jenna Daniels' house. Whether she was willingly putting up with this or not did not matter. But a plan was made to stake out the house early the next morning, and once there was an affirmed sighting of Wade, any means necessary would be taken to capture the outlaw - dead or alive.

Now Wade was kneeling in the dust, panting from the adrenaline the gun shots woke, and looking over Jenna with worry. After she'd stumbled, she'd fallen, and had yet to get up. The outlaw carefully turned her over, casting a quick glance at the house, and then back. She was breathing heavily, dirt was on her cheek, and there was a puncture of deep red just beneath her breast.

"Shit.." Wade breathed, then jumped as another two bullets snapped at the dirt around him. Time was short. "Jenna? Jenna, sweetheart?"

She winced as she breathed, and then touched a hand to the wound. There was no expression on her face as she saw the blood on her fingertips. She knew what had happened and what was coming. She raised her deep blue eyes up to the man's rugged, worried face and offered a pale, weak smile. "Sorry, Ben."

"No, no," he breathed, shaking his head, "I'm sorry. I told you I'd never hurt you, and now-" another bullet cracked, nearer now. He raised his arm, firing off two defense shots. He looked back down, and the blood had spread. So quickly. "Jenna.."

Eyes as deep and blue as the ocean blinked up at him, turned slowly to look over at what had once been her home, and then didn't blink again. So quickly.

Wade could hardly breathe, as he tried to understand what had just happened in the last two minutes. He had almost asked if she would mind him coming to visit now and again, but caught himself in time and been reminded that he was Ben Wade - he was dangerous, and worked better alone. Then the bullets that had come from nowhere, and- Had he been sloppy? He must have slipped up. This was such a rookie thing to pull- a hailstorm of bullets cracked and snapped and bit at the ground around the outlaw, and he saw Jenna's body jerk with the impact of a second ball of lead, and then felt a burst of pain in his left arm. With a yell, he raised his gun and fired wildly at the group of men, beating them back down with his own shots. He scrambled to his feet, leaped onto his horse, and with one last pained glance at Jenna - dead, bloody, laying in the dirt; a familiar sight - spurred away, gunshots sounding after him.

The big black horse galloped with a speed it knew Wade demanded, and yet still he spurred on, if only to keep himself from turning back. Rage burned inside him, almost blinding, and then he realized the blindness came from water in his eyes - not tears, but rain. It lashed his face and any exposed skin, but it was a relief to the hot fury Wade felt inside. Everything had happened so quickly. He'd only known Jenna Daniels two days, but he hadn't intended for harm to come to her. She'd been right before, when she said Dan Evans wouldn't be dead if he hadn't been around. Now it was the same for her. Shame and guilt overrode the fury, and he wasn't sure which was worse. First Dan killed, then Jenna, just days later. Both dead in the dirt, both because of him.

Ben Wade bowed his head as lightning flashed, thunder rolled like drums, and rain bit like nonlethal bullets. He would not make the mistake of getting attached to someone - man or woman - again. Not for a friend, not for a partner, not for a lover. Perhaps he wouldn't even find himself a new gang - they all seemed to turn out rotten and overzealous anyway. Ben Wade could only be more lethal and effective without attachments. And that decided it. As the big black horse's hoofbeats thundered a speed no late-start mount could catch, Wade's mind was decided to go on doing the only thing he knew how to do, and alone. He was invincible, after all.


End file.
